


Devour

by capildissexy



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Cuddlefucking, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Star-crossed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 19:52:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5346518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capildissexy/pseuds/capildissexy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara/Twelve PWP. There is showering and some sexyness. This is a little moody, flavored by the Face the Raven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devour

Devour

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Clara was dreaming. She had to be dreaming…about a rainstorm. Funny, it felt so real. She could almost feel the water on her forehead. As she swiped a hand over her skin it came away wet.

With a cry, Clara sat up in bed to see the shadowy form hovering over her bed. She flipped the switch on the lamp on the nightstand and groaned at the sudden influx of light in the room.

That's when she saw the Doctor hovering over her. She grasped the covers and pulled them to her neck. She'd gone to sleep in old university shirt and a pair of plaid boxers.

"What are you doing lurking in my bedroom in the middle of the night?"

"Standing," he said, as though the answer should be obvious.

His clothing clung to him and his hair was soaked.

"Doctor! What happened?"

"Shark," he said, which really wasn't much of an explanation, but she'd learned long ago to just go with whatever he said. Most likely, he'd lie about it anyway. He'd parked the TARDIS in the corner of the room. How she'd slept through that, she didn't know. Maybe she'd been pushing it too hard at work?

And that's when she detected a decidedly fishy odor wafting off his sodden clothing. Clara pinched her nose to block the stench. Rivulets of tainted water streamed into her carpet and she'd just had it steam cleaned after he'd tracked in a bunch of purple goo from that slimy planet.

As she was about to give him a tongue-lashing, she noticed a crimson stain blooming beneath his white shirt.

"You're hurt!" she said, grabbing him by the hand and tugging him into her bathroom.

"So I am." He stared at the blood, a little dazed.

"What were you doing in the ocean?"

"I wasn't in the ocean. I was in a lake."

"The shark was in the lake?" Clara asked. She wasn't a marine biologist, but she thought they stuck to salt water.

"Of course. This one didn't swim in the fog."

Swim in the fog? How could a shark swim in fog? That didn't make much sense to Clara so…again…she let it go. The Doctor stood in the middle of her bathroom with water dripping down the length of his nose.

He'd made no move to remove his clothing, so she tugged the water-logged velvet jacket from his shoulders and unbuttoned the black waistcoat. And then she started on the white shirt, though she had to reach on her tiptoes to undo the first button. She'd expected him to slap her hands away or push her out of the bathroom, but he stood there and let her tend to him. That wasn't like him at all. Maybe he was more injured then he let on?

When she peeled the fabric back, she revealed dozens of little bites all over his chest.

"Were they baby sharks?" she asked.

"Miniature. And it was just one…shark that is. It swam up my sleeve and I couldn't get the little bugger out." He grimaced.

Clara tried not to laugh. She really did, but the image of the Doctor trying to wrestle a tiny Jaws was too much and she giggled.

He scowled…which only made her laugh harder.

"Clara, is isn't funny. What if it'd gotten….lower?" he said, widening his eyes meaningfully.

Clara howled.

And the Doctor just stood there until she'd composed herself.

When she finally caught her breath, she smiled at him. "I'm sorry."

For a moment, she thought she saw a flush of red on his cheeks, but it was gone in an instant.

"Well, I'm glad you're okay. Why don't you hop in the shower? I'll get you a change of clothes from the TARDIS and some first aid supplies from the medibay." They'd spent a lot of time patching each other up after misadventures. She knew exactly the ointment he needed. And where his wardrobe was, too.

He nodded. "Will you get me a pair of tartan trousers? And a t-shirt?"

"Of course."

"Make that two t-shirts. And a hoodie?"

"How many layers does one man need?" Clara grabbed his wet clothing and opened the door, but his voice forestalled her.

"Wait. You aren't going to finish?" he asked, pointing down at his trousers.

Clara bit her lower lip as she studied his face. The question had been asked innocently. She didn't see any hint of sexual intent. Flustered, Clara could only stare at him. "Finish what?"

He smiled but it was guileless. "Undressing me. I'm injured."

They'd been dancing around their relationship for ages. Their friendship had the potential to be so much more. In fact, it was much more…but they called it a friendship. Was he finally making a move…albeit in a really weird way? Clara wasn't certain…and changing the status quo on impulse in the middle of the night seemed like a really bad idea, so she shrugged it off.

"You're a couple thousand years old. You can undress yourself. I'll be right back."

His bit his lower lip, but didn't protest.

Later, she returned with an armful of clothes and medical supplies. She'd even gotten him a pair of question mark underpants from the drawer. Honestly, he was like a mixture of old man and ten year old boy. After a perfunctory knock to announce her presence, Clara stepped inside. She found the Doctor in her shower. "There you are! You took forever."

"Yes, well you could've have gotten your own clothes," she said sharply.

Steam billowed out from behind the curtain, as he pushed it back. Droplets of water beaded on his chest hair and his fluffy gray hair had darkened a shade or two and it formed two soapy horns atop his head.

Clara made sure her gaze never went lower than this neck, though she was getting full frontal Doctor at the moment. Sometimes, the Doctor didn't display any sexual awareness. Yet, he could be so flirty in a bizarre way. Clara briefly remembered his bow-tied incarnation greeting her in the buff without a hint of embarrassment.

Once again, she ignored his outlandish behavior. She hung the clothing on the hooks behind the door, set the bandages and ointment on the sink, and then made to leave.

"Clara, can you wash my back? I have bites there I can't quite reach. I need to wash them with soap and water."

Damn. She couldn't ignore a health and safety quest. Clara swallowed the lump in her throat. "Uh, sure, turn around."

The Doctor twisted and hunched down as she slowly walked to the tub. Clara glanced at his arse…which was so alabaster it could cause blindness. But it was nicely shaped, particularly for a man of his age. Actually, it was very nicely shaped. Clara had the wild urge to touch him…but stopped. She kept telling herself he was injured and needed her help. She shouldn't be getting turned on at a time like this.

After grabbing the washcloth, she swiped at his back, cleansing every one of the raw bite marks. Then, tossed it back at him. "All done. Bye."

"Wait!" He rinsed himself off and turned off the water. Then climbed out of the tub. Clara backed away and grabbed a towel from nearby rack. She practically flung it at him. "Here! Put this on."

The Doctor wrapped it around his waist. He frowned, his drenched eyebrows a bit less bushy. "Does my nakedness bother you for some reason?"

Bothered. What a perfect term. She felt hot and bothered. Perturbed. Maybe a little entranced. "Um, no…" Oh, what a lie! "But it's a human social convention. People who aren't…intimate remain clothed in front of one another."

"You and I are very intimate."

"No, we aren't." Clara shook her head.

"Yes, we are." The Doctor grabbed another towel and wiped his face and torso off, before placing it on the closed toilet lid. Then, he sank down on it. "You and I share a timeline, Clara Oswald. You and I are practically living together. We share adventures, meals, and whole lifetimes together. That's very intimate."

Clara swallowed a lump in her throat. "I meant another kind of intimacy, Doctor."

He blinked at her owlishly. "What kind?"

Clara didn't elaborate. This wasn't the time. It never seemed to be the right time. Ironic in a way, the Doctor was a Time Lord, but they had the worst timing of any couple she'd ever seen.

"I'll give you some privacy." She turned on her heel to go.

But he grasped her wrist. "I need you to put the ointment on."

Damn these health and safety requests. She couldn't turn them down. "Oh, right." Clara grabbed a couple cotton swabs and stood between his spread thighs. Thank God, he still wore the towel around his waist.

She dabbed the ointment on the tiny pinpricks. They were already turning pinkish. Time Lords had amazing healing powers. By tomorrow, she'd bet they'd be gone. Still, shark mouths were bound to be infested with bacteria…better safe than diseased. As she worked on him, the Doctor's eyes fell closed…but he didn't seem sleepy. His expression reminded her of childhood pet, Fuzball, when she used to stroke the cat's fur. The tabby used to close its eyes in ecstasy as Clara scratched her belly.

Not that the Doctor was her pet…but she was petting him.

Clara slowed her pace and indulged herself. Yes, he was more cuddly than he'd been at first, but she wouldn't exactly call the Doctor touchy feely. They certainly didn't do nearly naked touching.

After she finished his chest, he leaned forward, his face pressed into her side. And Clara could've sworn he was sniffing her. She was acutely aware of her thin shirt and bare legs beneath the boxers. When Clara finished anointing the bites, she wrapped a layer of gauze around his chest and secured it with medical tape from her first aid kit.

And then an awkward silence settled over them.

She'd taped off the dressing, yet still touched his back, smoothing it. And he still had his face pressed against her side. There was a gap in the back of the towel and she was once more treated to a glimpse of his backside.

Oh, this was such a bad idea.

She should leave. Clara slowly disentangled herself from the Doctor. "So, um, should I make us some tea? Or would you like to rest? Do you have somewhere you have to go?" she babbled.

The Doctor stared at her a moment, his fingertip pressed against his lower lip thoughtfully. "I want to sleep…with you."

"I'm….sorry?"

"In your bed," the Doctor said as he stood up and dropped the towel. Then he pulled on the question mark pants.

Clara focused on the wall. Look at that…great wallpaper. She'd never taken the opportunity to truly study it. Little yellow flowers. Fascinating. "You don't sleep…unless you mean…?"

"I figured out what you meant before, Clara. You were referring to sexual intimacy."

"Uh, yes. I was." She wrapped her arms around herself. And then forced herself to meet his silvery blue eyes.

He licked his lips. "Perhaps we should remedy that."

What? A startled laugh erupted from her throat. "That's so romantic."

The Doctor shook his head gravely. "No, don't do that. You and I are way beyond banter. Beyond flirtation and romance, Clara. I…" he paused to clear his throat.

Clara stared up at him solemnly. "What?"

"I want all of you, Clara, and I should've said something a long time ago. Before I changed, before Danny. I want to know you in every way I can. I've wasted so much time and I don't want to let any more slip through my fingers."

Tears began to slip down her face. Hot and salty, trailing over her lips, her chin.

The Doctor continued. "I want your mind…your thoughts, you feelings, your memories. I want all the time you have left….all your years, your months, your days, your hours. Every single second I can get. Every second you'll give me."

Clara could only nod. They both knew it wouldn't end well.

His voice deepened to a husky rasp. "I want your body as well. I want to know yours…what areas are ticklish, and what touches soothe you. I want to feel the silk of your hair. I want to make you come apart in my arms. I want to hear my name on your lips." The Doctor held a hand out to her. A silent plea.

Just like last Christmas.

Clara hesitated, staring at his long, graceful fingers. All she had to do was grasp them, and her life would change. Like the first time he'd shown up at her door. She didn't know it then, but she'd never be the same Clara Oswald. And she'd change again. Right now. This relationship would change her life forever.

But what kind of wreckage would it leave behind? Losing Danny had been painful, torturous. The Doctor had slowly pasted her back together piece by piece. She had a finite lifespan. They led dangerous lives…anything could happen. Clara would literally have no one in her life that cared about her like the Doctor if something happened to him. To them. She'd be alone. Empty.

And what if she never took the chance? Wouldn't she always regret it?

"Clara?"

"I…" Clara didn't think she could put it all into words. Nothing that'd make sense anyway.

But the Doctor nodded, as if he could somehow intuit what she felt. And maybe he could. "Most of all I want your heart, Clara Oswald. Will you give it me? I'll protect it with my life. I'll keep it safe." And then he pressed her hand against his chest, so she could feel the twin beat of his hearts.

Clara flung herself into his arms. Of course the answer was yes.

He held her to so tightly, she couldn't breathe for a moment. And then he tipped her head back and brushed his lips against hers…once, twice. Then slipped his tongue between them, exploring her mouth tentatively. Clara moaned into his mouth. And then he devoured her…kissing her hungrily.

The Doctor carried her into the bedroom and laid down next to her. For the longest time, they just held one another. He traced the lines of her face…her eyebrows, the bow of her mouth, the slope of her nose. And she did the same. Getting to know his new face…the planes of cheeks, the thickness of his brows.

And when they couldn't stand it anymore, the Doctor entered from behind, his bigger body wrapped around hers. She could feel the thick head of him slip inside and her body gave way, letting him in. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to shoulders, her neck. The Doctor was behind her, inside her, wrapped around her. Her entire world.

With a wail, she came for him. And he spilled himself inside her but didn't leave. They both needed to occupy the same space for a while.

That was the best they could hope for.


End file.
